'Yes,' she said. But she was lying.
'You might even get a little older, and I'll take you to a movie. Buy you a Coke and some popcorn.' He smoothed her dress across her bottom, pressing his hand more firmly than he needed to. 'You might even like it.'
They both looked up when they heard her mom call her name.
'You had better go now, darling,' he said.
***
The house he was looking for was located down a mud-rutted dirt road in a thick stand of shadowy, old river cottonwoods. Joe had never been down the road before, but he had often passed by the crooked wood-burned sign on a post near the county road that read:
OTE KEELEY OUTFITTING SERVICES GUIDED HUNTS
ELK DEER ANTELOPE MOOSE SINCE 1996
The Keeley house was a pine log home that looked tired. There was a slight sag in the roof, its once dark green wood shingles now gray and furry-looking with age and moisture. In the alcove where the house slumped, there was a rusty 1940s Willys Jeep, a horse trailer, an equipment shed, and a yellow Subaru station wagon. Antlers hung above the doors of the house and the shed. Joe shut off his pickup, sat with the window opened, and listened. The heavy, damp quiet of the river bottom lay over the house and to Joe the scene seemed to be more Deep South than Rocky Mountain. Cross beams in the trees indicated that Ote had hung game animals in his yard.
Joe had checked in some fishermen early that morning, working his way upriver toward the Keeley house. He had ticketed a local ranch hand for using worms in a stretch of the river that was regulated for artificial lures only and had cited two itinerant Hispanics who were fishing without any licenses at all. Before he had left the house that morning, he had called Game and Fish Headquarters in Cheyenne to talk to the officer who had sent him the letter he received earlier in the week, Assistant Director Les Etbauer. Etbauer wasn't in yet, so Joe left a message that he would see him that afternoon for his hearing.
Joe walked by the yellow Subaru on his way toward the front door of the house and glanced inside the car. There was a child's car seat, and scattered on the bench seats and floorboards were fast-food wrappers, plastic toys, and children's books.
The unmistakable sound of a shell being jacked into a pump shotgun froze Joe in place where he walked. He was mindful of where his hand was in relation to his holster--Damn! He was unarmed--and he slowly raised both his arms away from his body so there could be no mistaking that he wasn't reaching for a gun.
Jeannie Keeley, Ote's widow, stood in the open front door of the house with a12-gauge riot gun aimed at his chest. She was wearing some kind of uniform smock and a pair of faded jeans.
Using a soft voice, Joe said who he was and said he would show her his identification if she wanted to see it.
'I know who you are,' she said.
'I remember from the funeral.'
'In that case, I would suggest you put that shotgun away somewhere safe,' Joe said.
'I don't even have my weapon with me.' He spoke softly but there was a edge to his voice. Jeannie Keeley shrugged and stepped back inside the house and placed the shotgun in a rack near the door.
'Sorry,' she said, not really apologizing. 'I'm not usually home during the day so I didn't expect anybody showing up. I got a sick kid here and I've been a little jumpy since Ote died.'
'I understand.' Joe stood up straight, took a few deep breaths, and unclenched his muscles. He decided against telling her that he could arrest her for aiming a gun at him because he figured it would be pointless. Jeannie, like Ote before her, seemed capable of getting the drop on Joe Pickett very easily. He told her he would like to ask her some questions about Ote.
She stood in the doorway, trying to look tough, Joe thought. Her unlit cigarette bobbed up and down as she seemed to think about it, and him. She was wary of him. He read the name embroidered on her smock. She was a waitress at the Burg-O-Pardner restaurant in Saddlestring. That was the place that specialized in deep-fried Rocky Mountain oysters and one-pound hamburgers for lunch.
'I'd rather not invite you in the house,' she said. 'I got a sick kid in there, and it's kind of small. The house I mean.'
'I don't mind staying out here,' Joe said.
Inside the house, from the dark, a young girl called for her mom. Jeannie glanced over her shoulder and back at Joe. 'Oh hell,' she said. 'Come on in.'
Joe sat down at a rough-hewn wood table in the kitchen while Jeannie tended to a girl Sheridan's age. There were four rooms in the dark house. The kitchen and dining room were crowded by the number of animal heads on the walls. Off of the dining room were a bathroom, a bedroom, and another bedroom that looked as if it were crammed full with bunk beds. Joe thought his house was small, and he wondered how the Keeley family managed without tripping over one another.
April, the girl with the haunted face that Joe had seen at the funeral, was in the bottom bunk of one of the beds, and Joe could see a tangle of sheets and wet, dark hair. Jeannie gave the girl a glass of something and asked her to rest and be quiet until the man went away. The girl nodded her reply. Joe could also see another child--he couldn't tell if it was a boy or girl--playing on the floor in the room. The child wore only a disposable diaper and a T-shirt that was torn and dirty.
Jeannie came back into the kitchen and asked if Joe wanted coffee. He said no and she sat down with a cup for herself. She took the cigarette out of her mouth and put it in an ashtray.
'I can't smoke on account of I'm expecting, as you can tell,' Jeannie said. 'But sometimes I just have to stick one in my mouth for a while. It helps.'
Jeannie went on to tell Joe a lot of things he would rather not have known, like how Ote had no insurance when
